About Us

There is a good chance you found us accidentally by using the word “taint” in your search (If you found us on purpose, you deserve our accolades). Of course we don’t know what you were looking for, but you stumbled on a damn cool project. Look around; let us help send you on a musical journey. Here you will find a number of album reviews from the strange and extreme to the tame and mainstream. Our reviewers are a bunch of obsessive miscreants. Most of us are avid music collectors and have been involved in the music world for decades. A couple of us have been in or are still in bands.

There are no rules on Tickle Your Taint Blog. Our reviewers might make you laugh, or piss you off; both results are legitimate. One reviewer might write a glowing review of an album another might tear it apart. We may end up adopting a single review system, such as five stars, or each reviewer may use his own or none at all. We may have a new review every week or we could end up with one every six months. This blog exists as a social experiment to build community among a diverse group of music maniacs – our reviewers and hopefully you. Pull down your knickers, lube up and join us in tickling yours and our taints.

If you are in a band, have released a physical (rather than an MP3) CD or record, and would like us to review your efforts, contact us at tickleyourtaint@yahoo.com

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Sunday, May 30, 2010

My evaluation of Metallica’s Black Album comes not as much from the technical musicianship as from the context from which it spawned and thrived. While visiting a friend in a small Wisconsin college town, I went to this party where they played the usual 1980s musical diarrhea, Madonna, Janet Jackson, B-52’s.... Then it came, “Enter Sandman.” Anyone who knows me knows exactly when my trigger has been tripped - the subtle little hand gesture, the twitching eye, the deep breath before the eruption. I exploded in a rant about how the album was bullshit and asked them if they owned any real metal like Testament, Overkill, or Slayer. When they just stared at me blankly, I proceeded to tell them just what I thought of Metallica. Since my best friends back then were all named Evan, Jack, Jim, Yukon, and Southern, I will attempt to reconstruct my tirade for you here.

Here is the deal with Metallica’s Black Album, and Metallica in general for that matter. As a working-class youth and all the struggles that it entails, I was drawn to music that spoke to that desperate, brutal, and painful existence. There are a number of musical genres that can resonate with such a life history, but I began with metal. As I developed my exposure to different artists and styles, it became apparent that certain music was enjoyed by certain people. The kids of privilege all listened to U2, INXS, the B52’s, etc., and us commoners were relegated to Def Leppard’s High and Dry, ZZ Top’s El Loco, and Accept’s Balls to the Wall. Later, my tastes would harden, but the trend was clear. The goody two-shoes listened to radio drool while the working folks had to dig and scrape through album bins and BMG catalogs to find something remotely resembling music in our paltry, little, rural town of 6,000.

Metal is a rejection of the mainstream by definition. If an album or band is accepted by the mainstream, it is no longer a rejection of that mainstream. So, there is a serious problem with bands that “break it” into strong radio rotation. Some folks call it selling out. Others have stronger more inappropriate, explicit, sexist pejoratives to describe it. I just refuse to listen to it because of the people who identify with that music. I told those at the party who were “rocking out” to Metallica that they just wanted to pretend they were rebels. Oh yeah, we’re fuckin’ cool ‘cause we’re cranking Metallica. We’re so bad ass. Yeah, fuck you. I told them to put on some real fucking music (as if there is such a thing). If you want to be bad ass, put on Overkill’s The Years of Decay. “I Hate,” “Elimination,” “Shred,” and “Time to Kill” pretty much sums the bile bubbling out the pit of my stomach as that fucking, musical nausea called Metallica plodded on. The Years of Decay is a full-throttle punch in the throat that is truly an aggression release. Try it after your boss pulls some stupid shit on you. You will feel better as you pound the steering wheel and shout, “Time to Kill!”

So, I have noticed this despicable trend where people buy a name brand to make themselves seem so fucking rebellious. Metallica. The fucking idiots that shout “Metallica” as if they are the epitome of metal. Metallica is the stupid goddamn security sticker on your fucking CD. It is a useless label, but you can’t miss the fucking thing, everyone knows it’s there, and it’s in the way of the real music inside. Metallica is a safe way for fucking mainstream folks to “express” their wild side, and then act as if they own rebellion. Metallica is to metal what Harley is to motorcycles these days. Harley used to be the motorcycle of choice of the real bad-asses and general working-class bikers. Now, punkass, rich bitches are the only ones who can afford the fucking things, and I am relegated to a goddamn used Suzuki. So when I pass these fucking pieces of shit on the road who have never changed their own oil, let alone thought about pulling the cover on their own crankcase, I am made to feel inferior because they have the Harley, and I am the poser. Don’t even get me started on those goddamn sons-a-bitches that trailer their $30,000 bikes to Sturgis. Fuck that shit. Just the same, people who listen to Metallica are such bad asses and the real deal, while folks that listen to Sepultura are dirt.

Metallica’s Black Album is what it is. It is a shameless capitulation to thoughtless, privileged youth who are simply too self-absorbed to understand the world around them. Lars’s outrage against music sharing is but one indication of where these pathetic, short-haired losers are really coming from. I have a little adage that states if you are a Dallas Cowboys fan, there is a very slim likelihood that you are a decent human being. This also goes for Metallica. If you like Metallica, especially the Black Album, chances are you are somewhere between an anal wart and a festering boil on someone’s taint.

In sum, despite the reviewers that gush all over Metallica, Metallica’s Black Album is proof positive that you can put a shine on a turd. Whether they are spongy-headed reviewers or walking penises with ears in an American Eagle shirt, maggots who want to give you the impression that they are rebelling against the mainstream devour this constipated nugget with gusto. Folks with a sense of self dignity should stay away from this smoldering heap of decomposing explosive diarrhea. If you don’t, then I know what kind of person you are.

Since this is my first review, let me just briefly outline my rating system. To make this a bit more interesting, I want to create a continuum from good to bad. So, my rankings will be based on two opposing indicators. First, the good will be represented by an Indian dessert my friends have affectionately named “sweet sticky balls.” They are donut hole-sized pastries infused and soaking in an unrealistically sweet syrup. The bad will be represented by your average constipated turd nugget. The scale will progress from three sweet sticky balls to three turds.

For Metallica’s Black Album, I give it, appropriately enough for the color of the album, three turds, but where the last turd is the consistency of peanut butter and clings so desperately to your ass that when you go to wipe, it just smears all over your ass, and you spend more time wiping your shit encrusted ass than you actually do taking a shit. After listening to this album, you’ll wish you had a bidet for your ears.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Here we have the debut record by the Madison, Wisconsin quartet the Antiprism. The band is comprised of veterans of the Mad city scene including members of the excellent bands Tormentula and Merrick. This record is a breath of fresh air for me after so many forgettable metal records clogged with blast beats, little to no melody, and notes just for the sake of notes. This record has atmosphere, memorable riffs, and a collage of styles and influences to keep it interesting throughout it’s 11 tracks.

The Antiprism mix up the old school thrash (Celtic Frost style), black metal, nasty punk, classic heavy metal, and more on this one. Male and female vocals mix things up and keep it fresh. The Opening track “The Antiprism” is a doomy sludgy opener setting the solemn mood for the record, but the second track “Exorcist” goes the opposite direction with this upbeat catchy number. Track 4, “Madness Eternal” has some crazy vocal echoing that melds well with the pummeling guitar riffage. Another personal fave is “Obliterate Existence” with pounding fist tempo.“For Blood Red Skies” closes the ablum a lot like it opens, which is a great full circle resolution and adds to the overall feel of the work.

These guys bring back some classic styles mostly from the 1970s-80s but mix them in their own unique way with interesting vocals, hooks, and overall great songwriting. It deserves some attention.

Friday, May 28, 2010

As soon as I put the American Aquarium CD in the stereo (yes, the stereo), all I could do was say “Fuck me.” Instantly, I was reminded of my decade-long addiction to the music distributor Miles of Music, who closed shop over a year ago. Every couple of weeks, I would call up the fine folks there to place a big order of independent Americana music. They were my dealer, as I desired a new fix on a regular basis. Through them I discovered many of my favorite artists, such as Frog Holler, James Low, June Star, Wrinkle Neck Mules, Say Zuzu, on and on. When they shut down the operation, a void filled my life. It became harder and harder to find the artists who should have been discussed in No Depression magazine, but for some reason did not fill it pages.

So here I am listening to Small Town Hymns, the fifth release from this Raleigh, North Carolina band. A swirl of guitars, pianos, and pedal steel fill the room, as the bass the drum keep the beat. Each instrument has space to carry the song, to demand attention. I want to dance; I want to jump in the car and drive through the night; I want to weep. This band does not fuck around. The songs are direct, telling stories of struggle, love, and inevitable heartbreak. The singing is perfect for such rough-and-tumble songs that highlight the alienation that pervades the world. In the song “Brother, Oh Brother,” a soldier reflects, “Now my hands are tired and my feet are sore. I’m sick of dodging bullets from another man’s war. I’ve lost all sight of what I’m fighting for.” Being placed in such horrible conditions, the conclusion is that “war can bring out the worst in a man.” The songs ask for forgiveness, for love, and for comfort. Sorrow and disappointment often follow, in these tales. And, it is worth the risk. It makes the song.

I recently saw this band perform in their hometown. The Pour House was packed, as the band rocked the fuck out on the songs “Hurricane” and “Rattlesnake.” Caitlin Cary, of Whiskeytown fame, took the stage to sing on the latter song—“She’s got the kisses of a thousand angels and the bite of a rattlesnake.” Here’s to misadventure and more great records by this band.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Fuck yeah. New Darkthrone? Here’s my fucking vein, stick that shit in and fill me up homie. Seriously. New Darkthrone is better than heroin, and better than watching a methed-out kamikaze pilot slam plane-first into an aircraft carrier. Darkthrone is better than swine. This is saying something since I live and breathe in anticipation of my next delectable bite of pig. There is nothing better than every part of this one animal that evolved into such an incomprehensibly excellent tasting beast. When I tried to go vegetarian I even attempted to rationalize the continued devouring of pork by trying to figure out how it could be a vegetable, or grain, or something I could eat had I chosen to give up meat. Sadly, a pig is not a vegetable. So I gave up being a vegetarian because pigs pump thick delicious blood through their veins and well, fuck, I love to eat pigs. Magnify this obsession ten-fold and you have how much I love Darkthrone, especially new Darkthrone.

Three albums prior to Circle the Wagons, Fenriz and Nocturno Culto decided to continue to shift their musical focus from their pioneering Black Metal sound to a sound more in line with their love of crust, Hellhammer, Motorhead, Manilla Road, Agent Steel, Uriah Heep, and whatever other nearly forgotten piece of Metal History they unearthed in their vinyl collections and listened to in the claustrophobic Norwegian winters. This is the continuation of their brilliance and anti-scene stance that started in The Cult Is Alive.

Following Fenriz’s very publicly stated views on the Black Metal trend and the Metal Scene in general (as espoused in interviews, Until the Light Takes Us, and linear notes), the last four Darkthrone albums are finely honed knives to be used on the corpses of rotting Metal scenes and genre specific trends. Circle the Wagons proudly proclaims on the back that you, the listener, need to “break your chains or circle your wagons.” What the hell does that even mean? Here it is cut and dry for the sonic pirates, the wannabe underground, the scene kids, the trendies, and the established sonic merchants who feed fake punk and metal to the masses, you assholes think ya’ll are pioneers, charting a new course for the future of Metal (or even dare I speak the name of the dead Punk?). Think you are pioneers all you want, just remember what happens when those pioneers run across Indians, outlaws, and rival pioneers. You circle your wagons and hope you don’t die a bloody inglorious death. Figure out the rest for yourself. The title track off Circle the Wagons spells it out pretty well.

Here is all that you, the hopefully discerning music listener needs to know about this punishing album. If you like any of the following bands in a non-ironic hipster scenester fuckhead way, then you will love this album. If you like Motorhead, Inepsy, World Burns to Death, Deathside, Agent Steel, Bloodwulf, Manilla Road, English Dogs, Hellhammer, Amebix, Discharge, or just really love Darkthrone, pull out the money and get yourself a copy of this fucking album. Remember the battle cry from I am the Graves of the 1980s, “Destroy their modern metal and bang your fuckin’ head.”

Final Musings: Is it tickle my taint worthy? Fuck yes. It tickles, licks, bites, and nibbles my taint. I can’t even get this kind of immaculate service on the gooch if I dropped piles of Benjamins on the sort of professional that would stoop to such artistry. Buy this record. Bang your head.

Shittown, USA, yeah, that sums up my misspent youth pretty damn well. I had the pleasure of growing up with jacked-up trucks, tweakers, and rusted-out vehicles slowly overwhelming the neighborhood. Fun involved avoiding chew spittle like dog poo on the sidewalks and joy was connected to closed-minded, small-town, christian gossip. Just looking at the decrepit looking piece of property on the sleeve to the Mongoloid Village CD, I would assume that guys with nicknames such as Cooter and Fester probably have stories pretty similar to my own.

The self titled debut from Mongoloid Village is a heavy mix of dark stoner rock and well thought out post-rock riffage along the lines of Red Sparrows and Pelican. The vocals kinda remind me of Roger Daultry of the Who and definitely lean toward seventies rock staples such as Thin Lizzy and Black Sabbath. There are some really interesting progressive passages of interplay between the instruments on the “Choking Game,” “Pickled Punk,” and “El Ron.” The band uses dynamics very effectively, mixing moments of sublime introspective ambiance with crashing power chords and thunderous drum fills rolling across the auditory landscape.

Mongoloid Village is one band in a growing number of heavier groups that prefer to build up an underlying tension in the use of starts, stops, and creative chord voicings in their songs instead of blast beats, overly distorted power chords, and ridiculously loud, dark production values. I think anyone who has been listening to aggressive rock music for any length of time and still maintains some form of critical thinking skills should really appreciate this.

So what is there to be said negatively about Mongoloid Village’s debut EP? For all the dynamics and atmosphere I hear in the music, the production values come off sounding a little dull and flat. I think a couple minor compression and equalization tweaks would have this recording sound. I really like the guitar playing on this EP, and the guys start to wander toward great progressive musical territory. I would have just liked to have heard a bit more technical embellishment and flash here and there. There is a fine line there and I’m just splitting hairs at this point.

Overall, I think the Mongoloid Village EP is a great addition to the Portland, Oregon rock catalog. These guys ride a fine line between creativity and accessibility. I’ll lump these guys into the rare category, with Vanishing Kids, as a technically interesting band that uses melody very well a.k.a. music that can be listened to with non-music snob friends without one wanting to stab their own eyes out with ice picks or hearing “what’s this boring ass jazz stuff?” It's also really cool to hear a band playing stuff along the lines of post rock but with more of a focus on song writing than atmosphere and experimentation.

Using Jimmy’s time honored scale of 1 to 10 minutes in reference to the auto erotic pleasure produced by this album I’ll give 8.5 minutes.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Ok, let me start off by saying that I am not really much of a “metal guy.” I mean, I think the Smiths are one of the greatest bands in recorded history. Sure, I love Iron Maiden, but it took me fifteen years to acclimate to them, and really, let us be honest, they exist in a category all their own.

How I ended up buying and repeatedly listening to Cannibal Corpse’s Evisceration Plague needs some clarification and background information.

Listen to my story.

Being an obsessive music junkie, I was wandering around on the internet checking out different bands. To my amazement, shock, and horror, I came upon a Cannibal Corpse lyric page. I could not believe it. I didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or be horrified. There before me were the most grotesque lyrics I had ever encountered. Sure, I had sat around with friends and come up with the most offensive, disturbing, and disgusting extreme metal lyrics just for fun, as I am sure many people do. Right? But no, this shit was the real deal. I read lyrics about a car crash with extensive details about entrails scattered across the road and wrapped around traffic signs and decapitation graphically displayed with balance, meter, and rhyme. These were almost cartoonish and graphically disgusting lyrics that went on and on, song after song. What amazed me is that this band put such time and effort into such meaningless and adolescent descriptions of violent horror and maiming.

I like good lyrics: political, social, emotional. However, I don’t want to give the impression that everything I listen to is great. Surly it is not. And let’s face it, a great song about a coffee cup isn’t really about a coffee cup, know what I mean?

I began to ask myself a few questions. Who would do this? What is the ultimate purpose behind such an effort? What the fuck is the motivation? I mean, the lyrics had no sort of subtext, political, social or emotional. They seemed to be just violent horror. Now, I am not trying to make any value judgments. I mean I have never been into slasher or horror B movies. I just don’t see the point. In some ways, I have to wonder if the people who love this stuff or write these lyrics have had any real tragedies in their lives. If I want horror and death, I can read a book or check out a documentary about soldiers and kids getting blown up with my tax dollars by the U.S.’s horrific Military Industrial Complex. That shit is real. We do not need to dehumanize each other more than our nightmarish economic model already does. Do we really need another band making human misery into an “entertaining” abstraction? So where does Cannibal Corpse fit in here? Are they just some retarded idiots glorifying horror and mutilation because they have the privilege to do so? Probably. It is hard for me not to be bothered by the lyrics to “Fucked with a Knife,” I mean, at that point the cartoonish horror leaves me, as I obviously think of the horror and subjugation of women spanning the bulk of human history.

Anyway, my point is that I would never think of censoring these lyrics or B slasher horror movies and the like. If you are into them, that’s great, have fun. I just wanted to find out what makes this band tick. I proceeded to check out their albums with the bloody-vagina-diseased-corpse-skinned-babies-cannibalism covers. I then can across their new release, Evisceration Plague, the album cover was a little toned down and the lyrics were not as graphic as many of the lyrics on their earlier releases. I then watched a “making of...” on Youtube and holy shit! that music was intense. The sheer speed and dexterity of all four members (not including the singer) was simply mind boggling. I forgot about the lyrics altogether and just started to watch them play. I mean, jesus christ, these motherfuckers were moving around on their guitars like hummingbirds on meth. Alex, the bass player, moved his hand from high notes to low notes so fast that I had trouble keeping up. My ears were even a few seconds behind. Now, keep in mind, I was raised on punk rock, I do not fear fast music but this shit was lightning fast extreme speed metal up my ass like a hot iron. I couldn’t take it and wanted to turn it off…but at the same time, I sat wrapped in utter amazement at the sheer speed and complexity of the playing.

I went to the record store and picked up Evisceration Plague; it came with a “Making of...” DVD. I watched it several times and continued to be amazed by the playing. They seemed like pretty mellow, down to earth guys. However, I did find the “cookie monster” singing to be a distraction from the mathematical engineering feats of the music. I listened to the record at least thirty times, trying to get into the music, to figure out how it all works together. This was not an entirely enjoyable experience. I just tried to block the singing out of my mind, I mean you really couldn’t understand what the fuck he was going on about anyway.

I tend to do this. That is, if I want to understand something I tend to jump right in head first. Slowly, I began to be able to differentiate between the two guitars. I then found the bass flying around in there somewhere. Eventually, I got to know the music pretty well; I even found some hooks and developed a love for some killer riffs. I pulled out the lyric booklet and began to read along with the lyrics. They really were much tamer than previous records. I mean they only talk about “flagellating sluts with serpentine whips,” hiding bodies in furnaces, scalding hail, decomposing bodies, a disease that makes you rip out your own entrails, and stuff like that. Really, pretty nice and relaxed when compared to the lyrics of previous albums I had read online. I even began to look forward to the song about the struggles and tribulations associated with the killing of zombies. I mean, how do you kill something that is already dead? Cannibal Corpse suggests the following, “smash the bastards into the ground / and when they’re down shatter their bones.” Sound advice if you find yourself battling zombies any time soon.

I have no plans on buying another Cannibal Corpse record. What is astonishing to me is that this album has become a unique gem in my record collection. I pull it out once in a while when I want something totally different. I am always wrapped in awe by this music that continues to amaze me. When I do listen to it I am usually alone and do nothing but sit and listen, attempting to catch every tempo change and just take it all in. I do not necessarily suggest buying this record. I have come to really enjoy it though. I should, I put a lot of god damn hours into it. What helped me most was getting to know the album by heart. I find this to often be the case with any kind of metal; the better I know the album the more I like it.

My initial questions about Cannibal Corpse where never really answered. I am not sure what the lyrical motivation is (all members share lyric credits), but I do believe they are divorced from reality. If these guys could start writing some decent lyrics they could really be a force to be reckoned with. However, they would have to put down their video games and engage with reality on some level. Hey, they could still sing all this slasher bullshit but they could use it to describe the horrific conditions of Asian girls working in sweatshops or uranium depleted shells in the Middle East. I am all about offending “the man,” but the shit these guys write for lyrics serves not a higher purpose than to just distract an already alienated population from reality. I did, however, find an appreciation for this particular album of extreme metal. I have learned to love it. I don’t really think I could ever love their earlier albums; I couldn’t sit around and listen to “Fucked with a Knife.” If you don’t listen to extreme metal and you want something challenging that will blow your hair back, then go pick up Evisceration Plague and see if you survive.

Also, Alex Webster, the bass player for Cannibal Corpse put out a great instrumental extreme metal album a couple of years back with two other guys called Blotted Science. It is pretty amazing. Ok, I need to go listen to some Hall & Oates.